Benjamin put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “Steady on.”
“What’s this?” Mr. Foxall glanced from Stanbury to Draxford and back again.
Hugh shrugged off his brother’s hand, and turned his heavy-lidded eyes on Mr. Foxall. “Are you truly unaware of my generous offer of a groom’s dowry? His ward’s hand for the privilege of using that piece of land the Draxford’s have coveted since they discovered that first lump of coal.”
Tears pooled in Angeline’s eyes. To hear herself spoken of as chattel fired her cheeks with an embarrassed flush. The walls of the small cottage seemed to close in on her.
She watched through a blur of tears as Draxford’s face darkened with anger. “I believe I’ve made this clear. The girl’s not bloody for sale. I have offered you a percentage of the profits, which you were fool enough to reject. I am done negotiating. Construction on the track is already underway.”
Draxford took a threatening step toward the table and Angeline shook her head with an adamant no, which thankfully stopped him in his tracks. Carting back a bruised and bloodied Hugh Stanbury would certainly have put a fitting end to this nightmarish outing.
“I’ll see him home,” Benjamin said.
“Stop coddling me.” Elbowing away from his brother, Hugh stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. “I want to see his bloody tram.”
Draxford shrugged his broad shoulders with indifferent assent. Mr. Foxall exited first, but held the door, clearly eager to have Hugh out of his house. Benjamin, with a tight-lipped Constance clinging to his arm, muttered a thank you for the tea before following his brother.
“I apologize for all this,” Draxford said to Mrs. Foxall as he righted the fallen chair. “Come, Angeline.”
Mrs. Foxall reached out and enfolded Angeline’s trembling hand. “Major Draxford, let her visit with me awhile longer. She hasn’t even seen my new babe.”
“Another time,” he said.
Angeline could sense his focused gaze on her face. “I’d prefer remaining here.” With difficulty she lifted her eyes to meet his. “You’ve made a mistake. You should take the deal Stanbury has offered.”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him. The telltale muscle ticking in his jaw, he turned to Mrs. Foxall. “Please have Thomas walk her up to the works when you’ve finished.” Chill air swept in as he ducked through the doorway, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Once they were by themselves, Mrs. Foxall patted her hand. “That was cruelly done, Angel, my girl. Had the house been any quieter I am sure I would have heard his heart shattering.”
Angeline swiped her tears away with her fingertips. “I’ve been beastly to him all day, I’m afraid.”
“How can anyone be beastly to that great, gorgeous man?” Mrs. Foxall took the stopper from the liquor bottle and poured some in what remained of their teacups.
Angeline took a sip and then forced herself to swallow the bitter liquid. “It’s for his own good. He wishes to martyr himself by marrying me. He’s really meant for Constance.”
Even Mrs. Foxall, who was likely familiar with the taste, made a tiny grimace as she drank it.
The second and third sips were not as painful and the fourth went down quite smoothly.
Angeline held her cup out for a splash more.
“You know that Silas and my husband were the best of chums. Well, Silas tried to discourage his nephew from that path. Said it would be a match based on calculation with no love in the equation. I saw the truth myself at a Christmas celebration. They looked splendid together. He in his uniform and she so comely. But she could have been a porcelain doll and he a tin soldier for all the warmth they shared.”
Angeline searched her thoughts trying to recall that Christmas party without luck. Likely, she’d been sent to bed before the dancing had begun.
“Have you ever wondered why Silas gave him guardianship? You had only a couple of years ‘til you were of age. I know Miss Hodgett can be a touch fanciful in her thinking, but certainly she could have managed two years.”
Angeline’s head was feeling a little foggy. Was it possible Silas had engineered this to bring them together? “He would pay a price for marrying beneath him,” she said glumly. “I can’t do that to him.”
“The major has very broad shoulders I do believe he can withstand whatever criticism they throw his way.” There was no point in discussing any of this, Angeline thought, not after she’d been the mastermind of this unpleasant excursion. Draxford would certainly never attempt an elopement again.
Mrs. Foxall rose from the table. “Would you like to meet my Kate? A funny little thing. Lost all her baby hair except for a small tuft.”
They tiptoed across the room as though they hadn’t been talking and clinking china earlier. Mrs. Foxall parted the drapes that separated the bedchamber from the main room. The baby slept snug in a wooden cradle, blissfully unaware of the invasion to her home. A stripe of hair, black as night, stood up on the top of her head. Angeline stroked it with a featherlight touch. It was even softer than it looked.
“She’s lovely,” Angeline whispered as they stepped back into the main room.
“Would you draw my sweet pea? How I prize those pictures you did of my boys.” Her eyes shining, she strode to the mantel and adjusted the framed sketches ever so slightly. “She’s just a tiny thing, should be swiftly done for one with your talent.”
Angeline actually found babies almost impossible to draw because they had no lines or planes to their faces, but anything that would allow her to hide out in the cottage was welcome. “It would be my pleasure,” she said.
***
Having left Mrs. Foxall with the sketch of the baby, Angeline followed Thomas to the coal fields. A large timber-framed building had been erected where a storage shack had once stood. “There’s to be a butcher’s shop and a tavern. My mum’s not so pleased about that. Says too much drink turns men into prime jackasses.”
Angeline laughed.
Thomas pointed out a contraption with a giant cog. “That winding engine is called a whim gin.”
Men, fresh from the tunnel, trudged up the hill. They touched their hats to Angeline as they passed. Coal dust defined every crease on their faces, dimples and wrinkles alike.
Angeline stopped in front of a very large apparatus.
“That’s the steam pump engine.” Thomas’s breath tickled her ear as he leaned in to speak over the repetitive whooshing sound of the machine. “Pumps water from the shaft. Makes an almighty ruckus.”
Angeline was put in mind of a horse eating as the machine bobbed up and down.
Thomas tugged on her sleeve and pointed towards the adit of the new mine. Angeline could make out the pale rose of Constance’s dress and Stanbury’s hat in the distance.
Angeline gave the great engine one last glance and turned to follow Thomas.
“You ain’t meant to smoke so near the mine,” Thomas called, as they rounded the brick wall housing the engine. The man stepped out of the shadow of the wall and flicked his burning cheroot to the ground. He had a swagger which was instantly familiar. Even grimy from the mine, Turley strutted like he owned the world.
Turley stuck the handle of his pickaxe out to block her way. “You’re the major’s girl.”
She tried to shove the handle away. “His ward.”
“So you keep saying. Treats you more like his fancy piece, carrying you around for all to see.”
Thomas hurled himself at Turley. “Let her be.”
The man batted him away with his arm and the boy landed with a thud.
“Go to your father,” she managed to yell before Turley muffled her with his hand.
“Better you find Draxford and tell him I got something he wants,” Turley shouted.
Thomas scrambled to his feet and ran.
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The man dropped his hand and she tasted blood on her lips. He smiled broadly, his teeth a startling white in contrast to his soot darkened face.
“Bastard let that whelp pound me after beating the stuffing out of me. Not very sporting if you ask me. I figured I owed him. Knew that if I were patient, the grueling hours I spent digging in his bloody mine would pay off. He visited just last week, but there were surveyors and mine managers scraping and bowing around him. My lucky day when you rode up here with him.”
He threw his pickaxe aside and reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. He rubbed the flat of the blade on his sleeve. The blade had been honed wickedly thin. “Excellent for skinning rabbits.” He took a step toward her. With the brick wall at her back she had little room to maneuver.
Sweat trickled down the sides of his face leaving tracks in the coal dust. “Now rabbits are soft, but your tender flesh is like cream. Wonder what this could do to that sweet skin of yours?” He traced the tip of the blade up her throat to her chin. “Shall we find out or will you be a good girl? Give me your hands.” Her hands trembled as she held them out. He gripped the blade between his teeth, and pulled a scarf from around his neck and bound her wrists together. Next, he unwound the chain hanging from the leather belt around his waist. It was the type of belt used to pull baskets up from the mine. He fastened the scarf to the chain, leashing her to him.
She could hear the thunder of boots over the engine. It felt like the whole town was rushing to the spot. A small militia equipped with pickaxes and shovels quickly assembled at the front of the line. The miners inched forward as a group and Turley reeled her in so that she was close enough to smell the sweat on him.
Benjamin pushed his way to the front of the crowd. His scars stood out lividly on his bloodless face.
“Stay back, soldier boy.” With a swiftness, that had her gasping for breath, Turley pricked her with the tip of the blade. She could feel the blood trickling down her throat.
“Where’s the major?” Turley shouted.
“Down the mine,” one of the men shouted back.
“Well, fetch the bastard.”
Angeline stared at the glinting knife, her mouth dry with fear. “Ben, I beg you, don’t let them go for Draxford.”
A few of the agitated miners glanced behind them and with a sinking heart she knew he’d already been sent for.
Turley yanked on the chain sending her stumbling and a few men broke from the crowd, brandishing their tools. “You keep those lads back, Benny.”
Benjamin barked an order which stopped the miners in their tracks.
Turley swung around to look at her, spittle at the corners of his mouth. “And, you, you wee bitch, keep your mouth shut or I’ll be cutting some dimples in those pretty cheeks of yours.”
Her heart raced as she watched the crowd part to let Draxford through. His shirtsleeves were rolled up exposing the tensed muscles of his forearms. His whole body signaled aggression; his head was thrust forward, his shoulders squared, his large hands clenched. Keeping his eyes focused on Turley, Draxford spoke a few words to Benjamin.
Turley thrust out his chest. “Not having a repeat of that boxing match. If Benny boy comes for me again, I’ll put a pickaxe through his skull.”
The crowd parted a second time for the mining manager. Mr. Foxall lifted a pistol and took aim.
“Major, you trust that ancient gun with your sweet whore so near?”
Draxford reached over, placed his hand atop the barrel and lowered it. “It’s me you want. Let her go.”
“This little darling” —Turley gave a vicious pull on the chain that brought her to her knees— “is my safe passage out of here.”
She struggled to her feet, only to have him snap the chain again. She staggered, but remained upright.
He cupped his ear. “Listen to the rhythm of that machine. Puts me in mind of a good hard rutting. After we finish here, she can show me what her big bad guardian has taught her.”
With an enraged growl, Draxford dropped his shoulders and rushed at him, throwing him against the brick wall.
With a grunt of effort, Turley shoved him off and then lunged, jabbing at Draxford’s side. Draxford deflected the blade and Turley made another pass, slashing a gaping hole in Draxford’s sleeve. Blood blossomed on the snow-white linen.
Like a clumsy marionette, Angeline’s movements were determined by Turley. Though a couple feet of chain separated them, every lunge or lurch registered and she was jerked along. Over Turley’s shoulder, she witnessed Draxford’s inexorable determination to eliminate the man. It was evident in the rigid set of his jaw, and the iciness of his gray eyes.
Turley attacked again, stabbing wildly. Draxford’s waistcoat was suddenly dark with blood.
Angeline, deafened by the machine’s unrelenting noise, the shouts of the onlookers, and the blood-rushing in her ears, could barely hear her own screams. She clenched her hands into fists as she ran at Turley then began pounding his back. He tried to shake her off as he swiped at Draxford.
Draxford flicked his eyes in her direction. “Get back,” he shouted.
Her hands throbbing, her body trembling with fear, she retreated.
With the next swing of the blade, Draxford caught Turley’s arm and jerked it away from his body. Gripping the man’s elbow, he took hold of his wrist and twisted hard. He seemed to use the weight of his whole body, as he smashed Turley’s arm against the wall. He slammed it repeatedly against the bricks, ignoring Turley’s flailing punches aimed at his head and neck. With a yowl, Turley dropped the knife and retaliated by swinging his uninjured arm wide and hard. The impact sent Draxford rocking sideways. Grimacing, Turley grabbed Draxford’s waistcoat in his broken and bleeding fist to hold him steady as he continued to pummel him with his other fist. Angeline could see that Turley’s injured hand was practically useless, two fingers stuck out at unnatural angles. Draxford lifted and rounded his shoulders, easily shrugging out of his grasp, simultaneously dodging the next shot to his face.
Draxford moved fast now, releasing a flurry of blows to the man’s temples and nose, while his opponent’s movements were becoming ponderous and slow. They were fighting within a tighter and tighter circle. The chain linking her to the madman stayed slack.
Benjamin was suddenly at her side, sawing the scarf with a small dagger.
The chain rattled as Turley suddenly shifted and Angeline attempted to keep her hands steady for Benjamin. But the drag of the chain set her off balance. Sweat beaded on Benjamin’s upper lip as he hacked away at the fabric. He dropped backed with a curse as she was yanked forward as Turley fell on Draxford, trying to prevent him from landing punches. But Draxford shook him loose and continued to hammer away. She could see Turley’s profile. His nose was dripping blood, his eye nearly swollen shut. He tried to slam Draxford into the wall but Draxford brought down his elbow, smashing it into the man’s thick neck. The man crumpled to the ground and Angeline was wrenched to her knees. The man lay in a heap at the other end of the chain.
Mr. Foxall pointed the pistol at the inert man and then dropped the weapon to his side when Turley did not stir. “Glaxton, go fetch the constable.” The underground manager, hurried away to do Mr. Foxall’s bidding.
Benjamin pocketed the knife, tugged off her binds, and helped her to stand. Her teeth chattered though the air was still warm.
Draxford strode over and put his hand out to Benjamin. “Give me your jacket.”
Everything seemed foggy and unreal as Draxford wrapped her in the jacket. As they approached the crowd, her knees buckled and Draxford scooped her up and set her atop the low brick wall which ran along the path.
He tipped her chin up with his fingers and scrutinized the nick on her throat.
“You’re the one who’s bleeding,” she said and realized that tears were leakin
g from her eyes.
“I’ve got a thick hide.”
He cradled her face in his hands and swept the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, which just made them tumble faster. She hadn’t any right to feel sorry for herself, the whole day was a disaster of her own making.
“What say, Major, we drop him in the cellar of the tavern and pull the ladder up? There ain’t nothing down there yet,” Mr. Foxall shouted to him. Draxford heaved a sigh and dropped his hands from her face. He moved toward the men huddled a distance from the noise of the engine house.
Turley lay like a great lump in the dirt as the miners determined his fate. “Why is this bastard still breathing?” Benjamin asked, and delivered a hard kick to his side. The strength of the kick made it look as if the big man stirred. Benjamin landed another kick.
Angeline screamed as Turley’s arm snaked out hooking Benjamin’s ankle. The instant Benjamin hit the ground Turley flung himself atop his back and wrapped the chain around his neck. He reared onto his knees, straddling his victim. His face twisted with the effort, he wrenched at the chain as if he meant to break Benjamin’s neck rather than strangle him. Benjamin’s face darkened as the chain bit into his throat. He clawed at it with one hand and swung his other arm wildly behind him trying to dislodge his attacker.
Angeline sucked in a startled breath as the pistol sounded. Turley’s head whipped back on its bull-like neck, and blood spurted from between his eyebrows. As the chain slackened, Benjamin threw the man off.
Angeline turned to find Draxford holding the pistol, a thin thread of smoke still wending from the barrel.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Angeline was ending the day as she had begun it sitting in the window seat staring out at the courtyard. Her unopened journal rested in her lap. She tore her gaze from the window for a moment to find she’d snapped the charcoal stick in two. She set the pieces aside and brushed the black dust from her fingers. Had the constable taken him to the gaol? That grim thought was quickly dispelled. After all, his decisive actions had saved a man’s life.
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